


Madam Malkin's Manual for (dis)Robing Wizarding Royalty

by hati_skoll



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, brief mentions of fat shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-31 02:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hati_skoll/pseuds/hati_skoll
Summary: Rule Number One: Don't make eye contact.Rule Number Two: Don't… Don't— Okay, so Prompto can't actually remember what rule number two is, but he thinks it's possibly, 'Don't slip and fall and coincidentally pull the prince's pants down'. Because that sounds like something that should be in the manual. Definitively.





	Madam Malkin's Manual for (dis)Robing Wizarding Royalty

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 8 of Promptis SFW Fanweek! Yes, I chickened and just did free day.
> 
> 13/7: Minor changes made for coherency.

When Prompto finds out that he's landed a job at Madam Malkin's for the summer holidays, he thanks his lucky stars, which are finally shining on him after staying stubbornly indistinct for the first twelve years of his life. Well, he also thanks Lunafreya, who knows someone who knows someone _who knows someone_ who somehow got Prompto's name through the door. Look, he's not above a little nepotism if it's going to get him robes that actually fit for the next school term. He _needs_ those robes.

His current ones are two sizes too small, maybe three. And yeah, he knows he's a 'growing boy', but he also knows he's 'growing' into his robes _all wrong_. A couple of guys in his transfiguration class have taken to calling him Pudgy Promp, and that's one of the nicer names they've come up with.

Unfortunately, his parents are strictly middle-class in muggle Nifleheim and wizarding currency has been appreciating against the Nifleheimian gil for the past couple of years. His family's finances are stretched thin just covering his textbooks. Of course, he qualifies for Hogwarts' Muggleborn Bursary for Wizarding Essentials, but that only affords him the luxury of shopping at Second-Hand Robes, and he's learnt quickly enough that wizards his size aren't in the habit of donating out their old uniforms.

Which leads him… here. Summer apprenticing at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. And the best part of it? _Staff discounts_.

"Prompto dear," Madam Malkin calls and Prompto quickly snaps to attention, "Could you fetch that latest shipment of demiguise pelts from the back? Lord Abbot just put in a new order for invisibility cloaks and they need to be completed by next week."

"Got it, Madam Malkin," Prompto answers while ducking into the store room.

He locates the pelts after several minutes of blind fumbling. This will be a lot easier if he could summon them with an _accio_ , but Madam Malkin's declared it best not to perform any spells on untreated material of magical properties prior to proper charming.

That's not to say, Prompto doesn't get to practise any magic at all. Because he does. He's done a lot of levitating and vanishing over the past month and a half in Madam Malkin's service — which is far more magic than whatever he's allowed to do at home, in _muggle Nifleheim_. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery would have him slapped with a warning letter in a hot second, if he so much as tried a paltry _wingardium leviosa_ in his bedroom.

He carefully hefts the pelts up to Madam Malkin's work table. They’re surprisingly heavy, and he's beginning to feel beads of sweat gather on his forehead and pits while trudging up the stairs. Well, he could always use the extra exercise. Just got to… think positive, you know. He's been working on his physique ever since they turned him away at the Hufflepuff Quidditch try-outs. But it's a slow, arduous process.

 _Okay, there_. Prompto breathes out a sigh of relief, depositing the pelts where Madam Malkin wants them. He's about to make his way back to the receiving area, because the morning crowd's trickling in and they'll be all hands on deck soon enough, when the doorbell chimes. And he _would_ have called out the customarily enthusiastic 'welcome to Madam Malkin's!', but it balloons in his mouth and effectively _chokes him_ so he's a wheezing mess as Hogwarts' resident Lucian aristocrats come traipsing into his previously peaceful but eye-candy-less summer vacation.

The first person through the door is a tall, lanky fifth-year Slytherin — Ignis Scientia, who's been a shoo-in for Head Boy ever since his first day at Hogwarts, as the rumours go. According to those very same rumours, he's taken and aced every subject offered _including_ a couple of NEWT-level classes, after going through some iffy advance placement thing that the professors put together specifically to cater to his genius and Lucian monarchical administrative duties — which is _insane_ , if not impossible. The house elves adore him because he pops by the kitchens to bake every now and then. _And_ he’s deadly in Quidditch, even though he's never had the time to play on the house team.

He's immediately followed by Gladiolus Amicitia, Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and the best keeper Hogwarts has seen in _decades_. He's been scouted by the Chudley Canons, Stonewall Stormers and Toyohashi Tengu. They even wrote a feature on him in Seeker Weekly! He's turned down all the offers, of course, which everyone thinks is a downright shame, not that anyone'll ever dare say that to his face, because he's famously proud of his future career in the Lucian military and notoriously loyal to…

Noctis Lucis Caelum, Lucian Prince, Gryffindor's star student and the final member of the trio who’s walking into the shop, stealing the limelight and many a fair maiden's heart with his (mysteriously!) hooded gaze and (artfully!) tousled hair. Prompto quietly whimpers when the target of his gigantic schoolboy crush huffs irritably and flicks his bangs out of his eyes, utterly destroying whatever hope of coherency Prompto’s been holding onto. They're in the same year, Noctis and him, but Prompto's never shared a class with the prince before. He doesn't think they've even been in the same room, save for all the seasonal feasts held in the great hall, where Noctis sits all the way up front with his Shield at the Gryffindor table, and Prompto sits all the way at the back with the rest of his Hufflepuff cohorts.

"Good afternoon. We're here to purchase a set of Gryffindor robes," Ignis says, by way of greeting.

"Good afternoon dears. New robes for Mr Amicitia?" Madam Malkin ambles over, tittering, "Or are they for His Highness?"

Noctis shuffles forward a little and says, "They're for me."

"Why, you must have grown two inches since the last I saw you, Your Highness."

"And a half," Noctis says, quite proudly.

"Still a little squirt, though," Gladiolus adds.

Noctis shoves at him, but Gladiolus doesn't budge. "Shut up, I only look small because you're so bloody big."

"Now, boys, there'll be no roughhousing in my shop," Madam Malkin warns, although she doesn't put much steel to her voice, because you just… _don't_ tell the Prince of Lucis off — not unless you're the _King_ of Lucis or Ignis Scientia, "And we've got the lot over there. We'll have you fitted up in a jiffy, just head right on, dears."

Ignis nods. "I hope you won't mind if we cast a couple of disillusionment charms while we're occupying the room."

"Oh, go right ahead. You really don't have to ask every time you're here," Madam Malkin says, "We can't have His Highness' robing habits plastered all over tomorrow's Prophet, can we?"

"No, we cannot," Ignis says, "Your kind consideration is appreciated, as always."

Then the trio disappears into the fitting room, with Gladiolus and Ignis none too subtly shielding their prince bodily and Prompto accordingly attempts to disappear behind the bannister. Alas, Madam Malkin spots him not making himself useful and waves him over. "Could you help His Highness with his fitting, dear? I know you haven't had much experience with that, but Prince Noctis is an agreeable sort. You won't be having any trouble with him."

"But—"

"You're in the same year at Hogwarts, aren't you," Madam Malkin pauses, "I hope you boys aren't at loggerheads because of that house rivalry nonsense."

"No, no. We're— We're cool. His Highness is… cool."

Madam Malkin considers him meaningfully. "Is that so? Well, then, off you go, dear. It's not nice to keep a customer waiting."

Which is how Prompto finds himself knocking on the fitting room door, sweating buckets and trying to recall Madam Malkin's Manual for Robing Witches and Wizards — of which he's read a good dozen times, but is completely escaping him in his state of utter panic.

The door opens.

It's fortunately Ignis at the doorway, whom Prompto's marginally less terrified of because he always carries with him this air of formality that lends every situation some degree of verisimilitude.

"I'm… here to help with the fitting?" Prompto's not sure why he's making that a question, but. He's not sure how he's here in the first place.

Oh right. New robes. Summer job. Madam Malkin's. Robbing— _Robing_ Prince Noctis. That makes sense. Sort of. Ugh, _does it_? He wonders if he can surreptitiously pinch himself without anyone noticing. Seriously, how is _this_ his life?

Ignis smiles, a fraction above polite, green eyes glinting as he says, "Of course, thank you for your promptness."

Prompto dips his head as he slips into the room, which is decently spacious and surrounded by neatly ordered shelves of fabric. The prince has already gotten up on a footstool while waiting for him, looking terribly bored but devastatingly gorgeous nonetheless. At the opposite wall, Gladiolus' standing at attention, looking intimidatingly large and largely intimidating, but he catches Prompto's gaze — brown eyes just as piercing as Ignis' green — and offers up a friendly enough grin. Prompto relaxes by a tiny, _tiny_ bit, before he remembers belatedly—

Rule Number One: Don't make eye contact.

With… _the customer_ , right? Which means the prince. Ignis and Gladiolus don't count, do there? Prompto frowns, trying to call up—

Rule Number Two: Don't… Don't— Okay, so he can't actually remember what rule number two is, but he thinks it's possibly, 'Don't slip and fall and coincidentally pull the prince's pants down'. Because that sounds like something that should be in the manual. Definitively.

Like he wouldn't want to be _that_ guy, you know. Wouldn't want to be hanged, drawn or avada kedavra-ed, whatever it is they do in Lucis, for unintended assault on important personages. Then, he's losing his balance, arms wind-milling, outstretched hands desperately grabbing onto something for purchase and suddenly, he's staring at the prince's bare, perfectly shaped knees, before glancing up to see a pair of dark blue eyes startled wide.

Oh, what do you know, two rules broken in one fell swoop.

He doesn't know how he manages to get his vocal chords working but he somehow stutters out, "Oh. My gods. I'm so sorry. Itwasanaccident. Pleasedon'texecuteme."

The prince gapes at him. A second passes, and then two. Then Noctis' cheeks are flaming as he yanks his trousers up, out of Prompto's grasp, and.

Prompto half-expects Gladiolus to haul him by the collar, toss him out on his ass and demand he duel for the prince's honour — not that the prince's bodyguard has a reputation for being violent, in fact, he seems like an all-round swell guy, but. There's got to be royal protocol for this, hasn't there? Some official statute in some official penal code about the appropriate course of action when the prince's modesty has been outraged?

Whatever it is, it's probably not 'laugh uproariously while the prince chucks something at your head'. But that's the course of action Gladiolus decides to take.

"Heavens, Noct. Is that not the pair of briefs I'd laid out _yesterday_? What happened to the freshly laundered ones I'd prepared this morning?"

"Specs," the prince groans, long-suffering, "I don't like that pair."

"They're perfectly serviceable. But if you find them so objectionable, you had only needed to inform me."

"Next topic," Noctis says, making a face. And Prompto's just recovered from the shock of not being executed, _or_ sent to the gallows, _or_ expelled from school, only to be faced with the awful realisation that he now has to live with the knowledge of Ignis Scientia laundering the prince's underpants.

Ignis sighs, wordlessly summoning something — small and… round-ish? — to his hand. "It seems the button's come off your trousers. We'll have to make do with a Sticking Charm for now, but I'll have it fixed when we're home. I've a good mind to take it up with your tailor, in any case, such shoddy handiwork is inexcusable — what if that had happened in front of the press?"

"I'll— I'll pay you back," Prompto blurts out, and wishes he's kept his mouth shut immediately after, because in what universe would he be able to afford replacing the prince's pants? All three other occupants in the room turn their attention to him and he thinks this will be a great time to wordlessly cast a disillusionment charm on himself — if he actually knew how.

"Nah, it's fine," the prince finally shrugs, "It was an accident."

Prompto briefly considers tattooing that onto his arm, as a memento of his first and possibly _only_ conversation with the Prince of Lucis. But Noctis apparently hasn't gotten the memo that princes don't just go about interacting with robing apprentices, because he continues, "You're Prompto, right? Prompto Argentum? You're friends with Luna."

Lu… na? Prompto frowns. "Lunafreya?"

"Yeah," Noctis shrugs, "She pointed you out when we were watching the Hufflepuff Quidditch try-outs. You play seeker?"

Okay, so Prompto knows that Lunafreya's probably a member of some high-standing wizarding family — just from the way she carries herself, you know. She's always so… poised. But he's never known that she was _that_ high up the aristocracy rungs. He really ought to brush up on his wizarding politics. God, and she's had to witness his pathetic crush on Noctis for the past three years. He thinks back on all the times she's tried to get him to talk to the prince and colours.

Prompto realises a beat slow that the prince is waiting for some form of reply. "Um. Yeah. That was probably me."

Noctis grins and Prompto swears he sees flowers blooming in the background. "I play seeker too. Just made it onto the team last term. Guess we'll be seeing each other on the pitch next tourney."

"Ah," Prompto busies himself with the draping of the robes on Noctis' shoulders, studiously adjusting the hem while trying to figure out a proper response. "I… didn't make it. Onto the team?"

"Oh," Noctis says, and there's a length of awkward silence, before he continues in a voice that's both genuinely apologetic and flatteringly confused, "But you flew really well at the try-outs."

"They, um, said I wasn't… aerodynamic enough?"

There's another length of silence. And Prompto thinks _that_ will be the end of their conversation, because he's honestly embarrassed himself enough in front of his crush. But Noctis evidently still hasn't received the memo, because he eventually says, "That's bullshit."

"Wha— Huh?"

"That's bullshit," Noctis repeats, "Doesn't matter how… aerodynamic you are, as long as you're quick on your broom and you've a good eye for the snitch. You were the strongest contender they had for seeker."

Prompto won't deny his heart lifted at Noctis' so vehement vote of confidence, it's kind of… nice to be validated, by the prince no less. "Yeah, um. I'm trying out again next term, anyway. And I've been working out. So I'll be more aerodynamic come next try-outs." Hopefully.

"It's still bullshit. Gladio tell him."

Gladiolus scratches his head. "It shouldn't matter as long as you're a good flier… theoretically. But, yeah, some captains prefer smaller seekers on the team, because they make more difficult targets for bludgers and opposing beaters and seekers."

"I can't believe you!"

"I get it," Prompto says quickly, before hexes are fired, "We all want what's best for our teams. It's cool."

Noctis scowls as his Shield bumps their shoulders together.

And Ignis gives a discreet little cough, effectively quelling the squabble with a stern look. "Alright, I'm sorry to have to cut this conversation short, but we do have other errands to run. It's been very nice meeting you, Prompto. Thank you for helping Noctis with his fitting."

"Um. No problem?" Prompto squeaks as Noctis hops down from the stool, shrugging his new robes off into Ignis' waiting hands, "It's really nice meeting you guys too."

He quietly trails after the trio as they exit the room, thinking _this_ is finally it, his final moments of being in the presence of Lucian royalty. And he's fully intent on savouring it to the very last second, but yeah, his luck's never held out for so long, so he doesn't know why he's been expecting it to. Noctis, Ignis and Gladiolus have wrapped up their purchase and are in the midst of leaving Madam Malkin's, when the dreaded couple of guys from Prompto's transfiguration class swagger boisterously into the store. _Of course_.

He notices them too late to duck behind a nearby cloak rack.

"Hey," one of the guys call, Prompto sends a silent prayer for the prince to be out of earshot, "It's Pudgy Promp! You didn't tell us you were working over the summer holidays! Think you can get us a discount?"

Noctis pauses at the entrance. And Prompto _knows_ he's heard everything. Gods. He really could use a disillusionment charm right now. Then the prince turns around, glancing over at the group of guys with cool, indecipherable eyes, before that quietly intense gaze settles on Prompto. "Oy."

The other boys fall silent when they notice that the Prince of Lucis is _standing right there_. And Prompto feels like he's dreaming. He _has_ to be. Maybe he really ought to pinch himself now.

Noctis grins and raises his hand in a little wave. "See you at school, Argentum."

"Uh," Prompto gapes, he knows for a fact the other guys are gaping too, "See you at school, Lu— Lucis Cae…lum?"

And… _ugh_ , he'll be replaying this moment in his head for the _rest of his life_ , cursing himself for that awful foot-in-mouth moment, but Noctis doesn't seem to mind — he just smiles a little wider, then flounces out the door with Ignis and Gladiolus at his heels. And Prompto realises belatedly that he's grinning too. In the next moment, the guys from transfiguration are staring at him with a new-found sort of wary respect, which _feels great_ , by the way. And Prompto's quietly promising himself — he'll make it onto the Hufflepuff Quidditich team next term, then by the next summer holidays, he'll be back here at Madam Malkin's, getting new robes. Seeker-sized.

**Author's Note:**

> Not the usual ship I write, but I had this scene in my mind for some time so I guess I'm posting it for the fanweek? [Tumblr](https://hati-skoll.tumblr.com/post/175404360637/madam-malkins-manual-for-disrobing-wizarding)!


End file.
